Haven
by ShadeAngel
Summary: --SLASH WillNorrinton-- Trying to get away from the responsibilities that come with his position for a short time, Norrington escapes to one of the few places he finds respite, only to stumble upon someone he never expected to see.


Haven

Disclaimer: They belong to the mouse. Honestly!

Rating: PG-13 --SLASH WARNINGS--

Fandom: PotC

Pairing: Willington

Summary: Trying to get away from the responsibilities that come with his position for a short time, Norrington escapes to one of the few places he finds respite, only to stumble upon someone he never expected to see.

----

The air was damp as James ducked inside the poorly lit tavern, pausing momentarily to let his eyes adjust. _Haven_ catered to the tastes of nearly anyone who had the fortune of finding the small building, so well tucked away as it was. The sign swinging sluggishly above the doorway was the only clue that the tavern was anything but one of the shops that surrounded. Well, that and the slightest glow of candlelight that was just barely reached the surface of grimy windowpanes.

Truthfully, James only visited the place because it was the only one to offer any vestige of anonymity. Without either wig or uniform, the Commodore passed as being any well-to-do man residing in Port Royal. Anywhere else he would have most surely been found out by one of his subordinates. At least here, he was not deferred to and he enjoyed the experience as often as he dared risk it without feeding suspicion.

He sat down at the worn counter and soon found a drink in his hand; he'd been there often enough for the barkeep to recognise him, though not quite enough to be considered one of the regulars.

Still, there was something different about tonight. _Haven_ was generally known for being fairly peaceful, as the name would imply, yet there had never been this deafening silence. There was no conversation from the shadowed tables, nor drunken muttering from any of the present occupants. It was eerie, really and James felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

Cautiously, he turned and studied the room. Nothing seemed particularly out of place at first glance, but then he took in a slumped, morose figure. It was familiar, the slimly muscled frame and gold-streaked brown hair. Why William Turner had reason to be slumped morosely at one of the taverns out of the way tables was completely beyond him.

The posture seemed out of character on the usually prideful young man and it sent a pang of unease through him. Granted, he was not well acquainted with the young blacksmith, but Turner had never shown any particular enjoyment in drinking, either. He had shown every indication of avoiding it at any social engagement James had seen him at in the past months since the youth's betrothal. It seemed something he would do only in trying circumstances.

What could possibly have driven Turner to seek such an escape?

Curiosity began to eat at him and James shifted about on his stool as he began to worry. In a deeply hidden part he still cared for Elizabeth and as attached as the two were to each other, if Will was trying to drown his worries in alcohol, Elizabeth was sure to be in nearly the same state. Minus, he hoped, the actual alcohol. It was rather unfortunate he knew Elizabeth well enough that he found it likely that she had found a way into her father's own liquor cabinet. For a moment he felt almost relieved he had not taken the stubborn young woman as his bride.

He sighed. As much as he would have liked to pretend otherwise, he still felt stung at the girl's repudiation. It had been his own fault really, giving her a way out of the promise she'd made to him on board the _Dauntless_. If he had said nothing, had both Turner and Sparrow incarcerated and eventually hanged, he believed she would have stood by her word. She would have lived on as his wife quite unhappily ever after and that had never been his intention for their future. It had hurt to give her up, but he had known that it had been the right thing to do. He had known of her feelings for the blacksmith before that moment on the parapet. It had been vain hope that had kept their brief engagement from being completely false, but the words 'you are a fine man', would never equal up to 'I love you.'

It was really quite disappointing to see that his sacrifice might be ruined by two bumbling lovebirds and he felt honour-bound to try and patch things up. As very absurd as he found the situation he was about to step into, there wasn't much else he could have really done. It was more than just the honour of it all that was the driving force, but also his conscience. He couldn't very well stand by well two people he knew on a personal level suffered. Despite popular belief, James was not the heartless fiend that the world would make him out to be. Cold, distance and bitingly sarcastic at times, yes, but he did indeed have a heart and Elizabeth, at the very least, was a dear friend. Turner was... somewhere between friend and acquaintance. Their relationship was a strange one and exceedingly difficult to pinpoint.

Of course these contemplations were really getting him nowhere quickly and knowing the two stubborn youths involved he would no doubt have a very large headache by the end of the night.

He swung out of his seat, intent on getting this over with as quickly as possible. Turner still hadn't noticed him, too caught up in the contents of his mug to really study his surroundings. James had to wonder distractedly just how long the boy had been here before he had arrived and just how much he had had to drink. The blacksmith had always been so aware of everything around him, sensitive to those that surrounded him. It had been almost eerie, really and the Commodore was a little unsettled by the strange obliviousness.

The other occupants of the tavern watched his progress over the rims of their drinks, all seeming a little relieved as James took the initiative to approach the stranger in their midst. He couldn't recall the regulars treating him with the same silent suspicion, but it _had_ been quite some time since discovering the small establishment. No more than a year after the cross from England eight years ago.

Turner didn't even look up as James sat down across from him and the older man sat there uncomfortably aware of every eye on them. It was almost like something was expected of him and James coughed haltingly, hoping to catch the boy's attention before he changed his mind and returned home.

The figure in front of him started, ale sloshing about in the earthenware mug as his hand jerked and Turner looked up at him with wide, startled brown eyes. There was something strangely hypnotic about brown eyes. Elizabeth's eyes were brown, light and warm with the faintest hint of gold. The pirate Sparrow had had brown eyes as well, dark enough as to be black, black as the sea on a moonless night and equally as dangerous, hiding more secrets than could be imagined. He'd not noticed it before, but Will's eyes were brown as well, not so bright as Elizabeth's, but not as dark as Sparrow's. They were a shade all their own, like the blocks of chocolate he was sometimes lucky enough to pick up at port.

"May I help you?"

The question was enough to break him out of his reverie and enough to make him realise that he'd been staring into the boy's eyes longer than was completely appropriated. It also came as a startling realisation that Turner didn't seem to recognise him. He didn't look that different, did he? Surely it was the alcohol in the boys system.

"I apologise, Mr Turner, for interrupting your evening. I was-"

"Norrington!"

This caused a stir through the small room as the men around them lapsed into startled conversation. He grimaced at the sound of the gruff voices, beginning to wonder at the wisdom of approaching the boy in this particular setting. It seemed that his anonymity was completely blown and he'd be very hard put to find another such place to have a drink in same amount of privacy as _Haven_ had once provided.

Running a tired hand through his relatively short hair, James pursed his lips and leaned forward to look sternly into owlishly wide eyes. "How much have you had to drink this evening, Mr Turner?"

Will looked surprised by the question as he looked down at his drink as if he'd just noticed it was there. He looked back up, brow's creased in thought. "'m not quite sure."

"More than enough, then." It was unlikely there would be anything he could do about the Turner/Swann relationship with the boy in this state. James gave a long-suffering sigh and moved around the table and laid a hand on the blacksmith's well-muscled shoulder. "Why don't we get you home to the smithy, lad, before we have to use a wheelbarrow to get you there?"

A few blinks and Turner finally seemed to understand the Commodore's suggestion and stumbled to his feet, leaning heavily on the older mans proffered arm. James left a few coins at the counter to pay for his and the boys drink before leaving the tavern, knowing full well this would probably be the last he would step foot in the place. Damn sense of honour had ruined an entirely enjoyable setup he'd had at _Haven._ Still, he could hardly see himself not helping the boy.

They'd hardly made it into the street before Turner started to talk to him, leaning listlessly against his side, arm flung over the officers broad shoulders. James tried to shush him, but he just continued on, completely unaware of the fact that they were in the middle of the street, where anyone who happened by might hear.

"'m starting to think 'm not made out for this wedding thing 'lizabeth wants from me. I dunno 'bout parties or dressing nice. I think I look like a bloody peacock whenever her tailor gets at me. 's not my thing and I don' understand what the point is. You wander 'round a big room, shooting sugar-coated insults at each other, seeing who can insult the most people without actually saying anything overtly offensive. I hate it, but I can't get away from it..." He sighed explosively and looked up at the man supporting him. "If I want to be with 'lizabeth I have to do this. She's going through enough as it is, marrying beneath her, I don't wan' to cause more problems by refusing to try to fit in with her people."

"Have you talked to Elizabeth about this?"

James was more than a little curious, as Elizabeth was particularly hateful of high society. He couldn't see how the girl would have kept taking her fiancé with her to these social engagements if she knew how very uncomfortable the boy was going to them. It was unlikely she'd even be attending them herself. Elizabeth was notorious for her little social blunders, asking far too many questions than was prudent, showing too great an interest in pirate legend and being sharp enough to be considered rude. If anything, hearing Will's dislike for the events was likely to be more of a relief.

As was expected Turner shook his head. "I can't. Wouldn't feel right. Should be grateful for what she's trying to do, really. Just really needed to get away, though. Just for a little while." His shoulders slumped. "Jack was right... 'm not right for this kind of life. 's gonna keep getting worse 'til 'm unhappy and I make 'lizabeth unhappy. I _like_ being a blacksmith. I _don't_ like trying t' be something 'm not."

"You should talk to Elizabeth," James told him. "You seem to know your fiancé a little less than I would have believed. Elizabeth would never make you do something you're unhappy with. She likes these social gatherings about as much as you do, but she goes for you. Elizabeth is very much in love with you; she'd never do anything intentional to cause you discomfort."

"Still..." another sigh, this one more discrete. "She was raised with the belief that she'd marry someone with enough wealth to keep her comfortable. I can't do that. 'm still an apprentice. I've nothing to offer but a cold bed in the loft of the smithy. Are we going to live with her father for the rest of our lives, in the governor's mansion? Am I just gonna let her father take care of us? I can't. I _have_ to do something to help us."

"I now realise why you don't often take to drink," James said in way of a reply. "You are a very despondent drunk."

This seemed to make it past Turner's cloudy skull as they continued their unsteady trek towards the smithy. "Jack says the same... 's why he stopped trying to get me drunk. 'parently 'm not very fun like this."

"For once I can agree with Sparrow's course of action."

"You don' like Jack much do you?"

Not the most satisfactory of conversational topics, but certainly better than woeful meanderings of a lovesick blacksmith. James sighed and resigned himself to a very unsavoury discussion with a very drunk Turner concerning pirates and a Commodores justification of a situation that should have been obvious. Oh, the things he did for honour.

"Even if I liked your Captain Sparrow I would still be bound by law to arrest the man. He is a pirate and has done harm to those who are members of the British crown. If I were to give Sparrow special treatment, especially after giving him the time to escape after his almost execution, my loyalties would be brought into question and I could not only lose my rank but be court-martialled." He paused, considering whether he should tell the boy the full extent of his contemplations on the subject. Turner was, after all, drunk and very unlikely to remember any of this come morning. "It is not a matter of whether or not I 'like' Sparrow. I know he is a good man for all that he is a pirate and I am well aware of the fact that there are those of his ilk that are far worse than he. I have never heard tell of him or any of his men taking a life except in the direst of situations and he is not one to harm his captives. Be that as it may, it is no use liking a man who I may one day have to see dangling at the wrong end of a noose."

"P'raps you're the one who shouldn't drink, Norrington," Will suggested after a few moments of uncomfortable consideration. "You seem less than content, yourself."

"I had no more than half a pint of ale this evening, Mr Turner," James replied sardonically. "After seeing you in such a state I was just not able to enjoy a night of wonton intoxication."

Turner stumbled and looked at him with wide, startled eyes. "You're joking, right?"

The Commodore rolled his eyes heavenward. Was there no end to this? "Despite popular belief, I do indeed, possess a sense of humour. It is not my fault that most are not able to see if for what it is." Ah, there. There was the smithy. Just a few more moments and he'd be rid of the nuisance and could find his way to his own bed.

Until tomorrow when he was liable to end up with the boy calling on him first thing in the morning.

"That's another thing you have in common with Jack." Oh how James was beginning to tire of that topic of conversation. Blast it. Why wasn't the smithy getting any closer? "You're both a little odd."

Odd? Had Turner just called him odd? "Care to explain that little bit of logic?"

"It's… your attitude. Like a complete contradiction. Acting as you're expected one minute and the next turning into a completely different person," Will squinted thoughtfully, seeming to find it difficult to think in his present state. "I'm starting to think there are more than one of you, like Jack. I think that if you weren't what you are and he weren't what he is you'd have been able to become friends. You're alike yet different." His eyes brightened, as he seemed to realise something and seemed proud of what he said next; "Like opposites in a mirror."

What a comforting thought. A blacksmith thought a naval official was similar to the pirates he was trying to catch. Yes, that was absolutely the best and most logical observation he'd heard on the subject since Sparrow had gotten away. Perhaps the liquor had addled Turner's brain a little more than he had at first suspected.

James gave a long suffering sigh and felt no little relief as they finally reached the smithy's dark entrance.

"I suppose you need some assistance getting inside." It was more an answer than a question as he reached out and unlatched the sold wood door.

Turner finally seemed to sober enough to feel a small amount of the embarrassment that would no doubt turn into full-blown mortification the moment the boy woke the next morning. "No," he muttered resolutely as he pushed himself away from James' hold and started unsteadily into the dark workshop. "I can make it from here."

The Commodore was more than happy to let him take over his own care. The late hour and hectic day were starting to catch up with him and he was quite willing to find his way to his own home. He turned, ready to leave when he found a hesitant hand light upon his shoulder. James turned to find bright brown eye looking into his green, far more earnest than he ever expected to see them.

"Thank you Norrington... James." Turner leaned forward to plant a chaste kiss on his lips with all the innocence of a schoolboy. "Lizzy was right about one thing. You really are a fine man."

The young man turned and was out of sight before he could fully comprehend what had just happened. The reference to Elizabeth and kiss worked in combination to further confuse him as he stared unblinkingly into the pitch darkness of the smithy. He didn't know what to feel or to think; what he was to do about it, even. James loved Elizabeth just the same as he had loved her the day of his halting proposal. Elizabeth was very much in love with Turner and the boy had seemed to return the girls regard just as whole-heartedly. Yet, he'd kissed James. None of it made any sense.

Sighing again, this time with varying degrees of confusion and weariness, he turned and exited the smithy. Perhaps it would be best for all parties involved to forget it had ever happened.

Still the decision lacked finality and he wondered if it would ever be completely resolved... either internally or externally.

FIN

Admittedly not very happy with the ending, but over-all I'm rather proud of myself.


End file.
